Can driving still be thrilling and fun? Chris Chilton took a trio of supercars on a road trip to find out
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The road workers in their hi-vis jackets could hardly disguise their surprise. Even here in Monte Carlo, playground of the rich and famous, where supercars are as common as yachts, the sight of three Italian thoroughbreds in convoy raises eyebrows.
Or, more accurately, arms. Whereas in Britain the sight and sound of three 200mph rockets would be met with a bout of fist-shaking (“How dare you drive so fast?†“How dare you overtake?â€), here there’s a right arm windmilling furiously as the cars scream out of the famous tunnel that burrows beneath the Fairmont hotel in the eastern section of the Formula One circuit. “Go for it – the road’s clear,†they gesture, and we are only too happy to oblige.
The fact that the three cars I and two colleagues from Car magazine are driving happen to be the most desirable road machines on sale, with a combined value of more than £350,000, probably helps. First up is the Ferrari Scuderia, a stripped-out F430, with the closest links to an F1 racer of any roadgoing Ferrari. On its tail is the Alfa Romeo 8C, probably the most beautiful Alfa for a generation, while bringing up the rear is a Maserati GranTurismo, arguably the most perfectly realised grand tourer on the market.
All are expensive, but the Ferrari is the daddy of the three at £172,500. The Alfa is £61,500 cheaper, while the GranTurismo is a snip at £78,500, particularly if, like the 30,000 residents of Monaco, you don’t pay any income tax. But it is not to flaunt wealth that we are driving these cars. It’s to get the most from three exquisitely engineered machines in conditions a world away from icy Britain where speed cameras, traffic wardens and congestion conspire to sap the thrill from owning a car for pleasure.
And to do it, we have decided to take the most evocative drive we could come up with: a blast from Monaco, where, by the looks of the hotel car parks, a disproportionate number of supercars live, to Modena, in the heart of the Italian supercar valley, the birthplace of Ferrari.
The route starts in Monte Carlo, a place that reeks of glamour and James Bond excess. But these cars were built for more than simply massaging the egos of their pilots as they parade around Casino Square. By all means come to Monaco to enjoy being seen in your supercar, but not to drive it. To do that we have to head east, to Italy and the hills of San Remo.
Eyes narrow, roads too, as we climb quickly, trading the superficial glitz of Monaco for the lush greenery of pine-clad hillsides. Spiralling vertiginously upwards, the tarmac carves its way through the banks in a series of delicious switchbacks.
In the time it takes to cover two miles in rush-hour London, we’ve left the scooters and the traffic of the city behind. Up here it’s a world away from the flash allure of the principality. Mirror-fronted hotels are replaced by dilapidated buildings of muted hues; sharp suits give way to faded multicoloured ski jackets, grizzly stubble and ragged jeans; manicured gardens cede to sprawling vineyards that envelop the countryside like camouflage netting.
This is world rally championship territory, the stages that Sebastien Loeb, Marcus Grönholm and Petter Solberg career along in rally cars. There’s little margin for error – and it’s a long way down when things go wrong. The perfect place to let three Italian thoroughbreds off the leash, then.
Flick. Chunk. My hand brushes the Ferrari’s right-hand gearshift paddle, and the next ratio engages instantly.
And then again a moment later as the telltale rev-limiter lights embedded in the steering wheel’s top begin their countdown all over again. And again.
I’ve driven this region before and I know it’s supercar heaven. Here’s a slice of nirvana coming now: a long, tarmac-floored cylinder cutting its way through the rock face, it amplifies exhaust noise like a Marshall stack wired directly to the national grid. Tread the brakes and drop four gears and both windows – then make a note to suggest Ferrari creates a “tunnel†button to recreate the awesome sound in open motoring.
The Scuderia is addictive but I have two more cars to test. The Alfa 8C’s steering is heavy, the ride brittle and the grippy seats unyielding compared with the Scuderia. With 60 fewer horses and 140kg more mass than the 510bhp, 1,350kg Scuderia, it can’t match the Ferrari’s explosive acceleration or outright agility. But you’d never know it from the soundtrack.
Unlike in Monte Carlo, the locals up here don’t have cameras, but they have clearly heard the 8C’s engine. “Come on!†they wave, as they do when the rally comes to these roads, urging us to sink the accelerator pedal deeper as we tear past the peeling paint and tired stone of crumbling farmhouses.
The last gasps of orangey sunlight have succumbed to the pull of the horizon’s gravity, cars and drivers need fuel and there’s a mammoth leg of motorway mileage between us and a night’s rest in Modena. Time to switch to the cocoon of the Maserati, with its cruise control and clever sat nav.
But if we were expecting some gentle stroll, this isn’t it. Ahead is a black ribbon of lethal motorway corkscrewing its way along cliffs of the coastline with scant warning as to which way it might turn next. Unlit and devoid of cat’s-eyes, it is as thrilling to drive as those San Remo hills. One wrong move, and the unyielding concrete walls will gain another scar, the local hospital another guest. Little wonder the Italian road-death rate is one of Europe’s highest.
Like overgrown children, we drop the windows and open the taps through every tunnel, and drag-race away from every tollbooth. Soon we’ll be at Modena, and the dream drive will end. But right here, right now, it’s easy to forget your head, forget about the environment, about speed limits and petrol prices and congestion charging, and just immerse yourself in the dizzying experience of driving some of the world’s greatest cars on some of the world’s greatest roads.
We arrive in Modena as dusk is falling, and the next day we crank the cars into action for one last blast.
If, in your romantic view, everything in Italy looks like the Amalfi coast, I’m sorry to spoil things. The north is more like Britain before decimalisation. You can buy wiper blades and oil from petrol stations, but not a sandwich, a newspaper or any of the other things we take for granted in the first world.
From your window you see nothing but miles of featureless agricultural land and the unremitting greyness of industrial units whose designers seem to have taken inspiration from Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. But the great roads and beautiful scenery are there; they just take some uncovering. Central Modena is beautiful, and if you travel south from there, the flat, almost fen-like fields become rolling hills; rod-straight roads start to flex in every direction like a freeform jazz tune.
We can’t resist one last thrash. I head to Zocca and a favourite stretch of road for those occasions when you haven’t the time to stray far from town – a long, fast, undulating ribbon that races the river running parallel to it.
The Ferrari is sensational. The steering is immense, and I’m mesmerised by the brilliant combination of the electronic differential and the electronic stability system. From the rain setting, with its zero-tolerance attitude to lateral movement, to the CST-off function that disables the traction control and leaves you on your own, there’s a level for every driver and every occasion.
On these damp roads the 8C feels twitchy as you near the limit, and the steering awkwardly heavy, but be brave and it comes good, faithfully following the arc you mapped out in your head. The GranTurismo’s far too refined for that sort of tail-out silliness. And a bit short on grunt. But that’s not what it’s about. It’s a proper GT, a rival to the Mercedes-Benz CL and Bentley Continental for people with a little fire left and an eye for a bargain. It’s fun to drive but better to own.
As we said goodbye to the cars, we reflected on our odyssey. Nothing beats driving for pleasure, feeling the primordial thrill in travelling fast through stunning scenery and leaving everyday cares behind.
But we had to go to Monte Carlo to do it. And being at the wheel of supercar also helped.
Vital statistics
Model Ferrari F430 Scuderia
Price £172,500
Engine 4308cc, eight cylinders
Power 503bhp @ 8500rpm
Torque 347lb ft @ 5250rpm
Transmission Six-speed semi-automatic
Acceleration
Top speed
Vital statistics
Model Alfa Romeo 8C
Price £111,000
Engine 4691cc, eight cylinders
Power 450bhp @ 7000rpm
Torque 354lb ft @ 4750rpm
Transmission Six-speed semi-automatic
Accleration
Top speed
Vital statistics
Model Maserati GranTurismo
Price £78,500
Engine 4224cc, eight cylinders
Power 399bhp@7100rpm
Torque 339lb ft @ 4750rpm
Transmission Six-speed automatic
Acceleration
Top speed
Chris Chilton is road-test editor of Car magazine. For the full 22-page story, read the January 2008 issue of Car, out now